Out of your league
by Waterfowl
Summary: Lee Adama failed to take the news of Dee getting commissioned as an officer well, initially. Set prior to the colonization of New Caprica LDYB, P2 .


**A/N: The issue of Dee getting her commission as a Colonial officer was never alluded to specifically on the show. My guess is, Lee Adama might not have welcomed the idea wholeheartedly right away, for intricately interwoven reasons.**

**Set immediately prior to the colonization of New Caprica (i.e. Lay Down Your Burdens, Part II). **

**Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points, inherent to the show, belong to me. No infringement with the 'namesake' movie is intended. **

**Out of your league**

A couple of semi-teasing clashes after he set out to overexert himself, while still recuperating from the gunshot injury, notwithstanding, that was the first time they ever argued. It nagged him deep inside that he couldn't make out distinctly whether it was that particular serene placidity of their relationship driving him on edge with stir-crazy anxiety, or the fact that the tranquil equilibrium of 'them' was about to get disturbed. Neither premise, doing him not the slightest bit of justice, to boot, managed to overshadow the simple truth that he was also panicked out of his wits, hence reacting in the only way his military training suggested – by lashing out, reverting attack into defense tactic.

She was about to get her commission. The Admiral confirmed the promotion that day at the senior command staff meeting, alongside a dozen of others. The settlement on New Caprica almost a sealed deal by then, they were definitely looking forward to massive downshifting. So a freshly minted officer of the Colonial Fleet, or what was left of it, anyway, she was to become soon. The Commander in him had no doubts she was more than deserving. Distinct professionalism, no-nonsense attitude, subtle charisma and an inherent imposing persuasiveness of her, given time and expertise, would most likely amount for command material.

Incidentally that was what dreaded the Hades out of the man in him. He couldn't afford the luxury of fooling himself into believing that, a comms officer still or not, she wouldn't ever see the outside of CIC, her Lieutenant's pins on, wouldn't ever be sent into active combat. Gods only knew if the Cylons were determined to stick to their declared truce; Gods alone knew what awaited them all on this new wild world to colonize. She would be issued a side-arm and would be expected not to hesitate to employ it. Provided, someone on the other side of the range was resolute to use it too, there would go the one good thing he had ever had... He had to stifle a recurrent shudder just thinking that.

Worse still, he wasn't even sure it was his place to presume she ought to have conferred his opinion, let alone consent, first, before filing the application. He respected her too much to oversee the uniform had always been her ultimate aspiration, or to humiliate her with discriminative inhibitions. Hadn't his very own self subjected hundreds of officers and enlisted personnel under his command to deadly peril on more occasions than he cared to count. His father didn't hesitate to expose him, or Starbuck, or anyone else to danger, if necessary. That, sort of, went into job description. Not that she'd been a civilian and out of harm's way before. What evaded alignment into coherently perceived sensation within his geared up mind was the looming shadow of impending loss, efficiently obscuring the lucid pragmatism he prided himself with as a rule, and making him reach out for sniping words, he was beginning to regret as soon as they gained communicative momentum.

Never the one to take his, or anybody else's b*llsh*t, for that matter, there was no way she was letting this slide or was letting him get away with the condescending lecture he performed on her overall lack of experience, predisposition to romanticize the service and the need for decisions like that to be weighed and profoundly thought over. At the very least that much he was able to deduce from the steely resolve, shimmering in the gaze she pinned him into place with. For the world of him he wouldn't have guessed the voice he was so accustomed to welcome him home, to call out his name in breathless awe lately, would make him seriously consider searching for cover in his own quarters.

- But of course, Commander Adama, sir, you couldn't ever consider unassuming little Dee for plausible officer stock, could you? I'm just totally out of you stellar league! I'm not a hot-shot maverick pilot, I'm not wearing attitude on a sleeve, I'm not in the habit of badmouthing superior officers and I'm yet to grace the brig with a visit. Is that what you mean? That I'm just not Starbuck enough to ever make it?!

Embarrassment flashed up in a blinding wave. That was not what he had in mind. Couldn't be farther from what he truly meant. That he would ever appear capable of such scorn made him cringe, disgusted. Yet prompt apologizing had never been one of the Adamas' pronouncedly developed skills. He could hear himself yell, blood drumming furiously in his ears, before control snapped back on:

- Damn right! You're not! And I'm no frakking Apollo!

She regarded him in shocked silence, unsure where he was going with that. And he was suddenly conscious of his lack of poise. Eyes downcast, unwilling to meet her inquisitive glare, he could feel exhaustion settle over from navigating the mine-field of his own haunting insecurities for far too long. His voice lowered to a hollow stutter, urgent, however, to get it all out before she could stop him, before she could go on nursing delusions. He was unable to summon the nerve to anticipate her reaction beyond that.

- I'm not a good person, you see. I frak up. Usually. Most of the time, actually. My father, my brother. I should've talked Zak out of going into flight school. The Resurrection ship mission. There was a girl – before the Fall. I frakked that up too, 'cause I'm just a pathetic coward. You're right, Dee. You _are _out of my league. I'm so tired to fathom what I'd do next to frak up the things with you either. That I could possibly lose you to combat too, now… It was just too much, I guess… I didn't mean to offend you, Dee. You'll make a great officer…

His lips quivered, making him pause mid-sentence. He was appalled to witness his fingers shake, worrying the band of late Commander Garner's watch, habitually. Goose-bumps sped up his spine as her hands reached behind him, spreading a soothing touch, indignation long since replaced with radiant compassion in her gaze. He could hear her smile, not venturing to meet her eyes just yet.

- May I volunteer to testify in favor of the defendant, _your honor_? It, more often than not, doesn't take that irrevocably 'not good a person' to compulsively keep track of one's alleged frak-ups. And I do hereby solemnly avow to try and not be your ultimate one.

He brought their foreheads close, fingers tentative and reverent on her skin, longing desperately to lean on her conviction, if not to rely on it yet, drained of words, for the moment, to arrange the patchwork of apprehensions he was still to harbor for an excruciating while. A soft whiff of warmth brushed his lips, as she spoke again:

- You really think I could make a good officer?

- Absolutely.

Confidence was, remarkably, a lot easier spelled on that one. Trepidation be damned, he couldn't help kissing her smile.


End file.
